


Army & Navy

by awarrington



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Alternate Universe, First Time, London, M/M, Valentine's Day, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-07
Updated: 2012-05-07
Packaged: 2017-11-05 00:37:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/399956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awarrington/pseuds/awarrington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 1944 and serving in the U.S. Navy, Jim finds himself billeted in London, where he meets a tall, dark, handsome alien (in this universe, Vulcan made first contact at the turn of the 20th century).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Army & Navy

**Author's Note:**

> This is a commentfic in response to the gorgeous picture below by deliciousny for her contribution to the LiveJournal ksvalentine challenge, and a request from starfish422 for a story to be written about it.  
> 
> 
>   
>    
> 

Jim Kirk strolled eastwards up The Mall as dusk slowly turned to twilight, marveling at how late it stayed light in England at this time of year. Being so much further north than his native Iowa, the sun finally dipped below the horizon as the distant toll of Big Ben’s chime told Londoners it was nine o’clock.

Now, forty five minutes later, the stately buildings around him were thrown into deep shadow. At another time, the sidewalk would have been illuminated by the myriad lamps that lined the street. Instead, they were extinguished and, as he glanced around at the dozens of windows that looked out over St. James’s Park, not a chink of light was in evidence, the black-out drapes doing their job effectively. Even when the occasional car drove past – and with gas rationed since the outbreak of war, they were few and far between – their covered headlamps with small slots for the lamps to shine downwards, barely illuminated their way. It was a moonless night, and soon the whole area would be entirely dark. This was the price London paid for being within flying distance of first Hitler’s Luftwaffe airforce. As if that hadn’t been bad enough, a new and deadly threat in the last few weeks were the deadly flying bombs – or doodlebugs, as Londoners were calling them. As long as you could hear them droning overhead you were safe, but when they went silent, it meant they were on their way down and you’d better be within running distance of an air-raid shelter, or your time was up.

Further up the street loomed the great edifice of Admiralty Arch and beyond it, Trafalgar Square, a monument to a battle in another, earlier war. In that one – set at sea – Napoleon had been soundly defeated. As a sailor himself, he could appreciate England’s long and successful maritime history: surrounded by water, Britain – smaller in square miles than the state of Michigan – was a nation of sailors. Though how galling, he wondered, was it for the French authorities to be relying on their long-term enemy, England – well Britain, now – to rescue them from the oppression of Nazi Germany? He knew, from what his boss, Admiral Pike had said, that General Charles de Gaule held no love for the English, even as he waited on his nation’s imminent deliverance.

Through the arch, Jim could just make out the wide expanse of Trafalgar Square, dominated by the statue of Nelson towering 170 ft above. At the foot of the tower, ornate fountains sat dry and lifeless: an unnecessary decoration in austere times. As he strode along, Jim gazed up and wondered what changes Nelson’s statue had seen in the hundred years since he had been placed up there. His thoughts were suddenly brought back to the present when, not paying attention to where he was walking, he collided with another pedestrian.

“Oi, watch where yer goin’ mate!” came the gruff voice of an elderly man.

“Sorry,” Jim said, holding up his hands in apology, but the man was already moving away.

“Bloody Yanks,” he heard the old man mutter.

Jim rolled his eyes and turning to his right, began to walk down Whitehall. He knew at the other end of the street, several blocks away, stood the famous parliament buildings and the iconic tower of Big Ben because he’d seen it when he and Pike had been driven past it the previous day on their way to their billet.

He didn’t have far to walk, the pub he was aiming for being close to the south side of the square was tucked in a small side street off the main drag. It was just as Rand had described, an unpretentious establishment called “Walkers”. The windows were all blacked out but as he pushed the door open, bright light spilled out onto the sidewalk, causing him to momentarily blink as his eyes adjusted.

The streets had been relatively deserted but the bar was busy, filled mostly with men and women in uniform. The cut of his navy-blue sailor suit and white hat immediately marked him out as American, which usually made the women turn to him in interest and the men to scowl at him because of it. Ignoring everyone, he pushed his way to the counter.

Many things were rationed because of the war, but apparently not beer – the English had their priorities right. The names on the pumps made him smile with “Old Speckled Hen”, “Charles Wells Bombardier”, “Old Peculiar” and “Badger’s Tanglefoot”.

“Uh, what beer do you recommend?” he asked the barmaid, glancing at the array of pumps. Her peroxide hair was dark at the roots and her severely plucked eyebrows gave her a permanently surprised expression. The look was a popular one, modeled on movie star Jean Harlow, though few could pull it off. She pursed her red-lipsticked lips and Jim wondered if she was trying to look sexy.

“’Ow strong do yer like yer beer?” she asked him, a challenging look daring him to say ‘strong’.

“I’ll drink anything,” he replied with a grin.

She shrugged. “I’ll give yer a pint of our regular pale ale. If you can stomach somethin’ stronger, you can ‘ave it next round.”

“Swell!” Jim grinned and spent the next minute trying to figure out how much to pay her – twelve pence to the shilling, twenty shillings to the pound. There was a bewildering number of different coins, some with names that gave no clue to their denomination, such as ‘crown’ and ‘farthing’.

“That’s ‘alf a crown to you,” the barmaid said cheerily, pushing a murky-looking brew towards him in a sturdy handled pint glass.

He gazed down at the change in his hand, trying to figure it out when she leaned across the bar and plucked a silver coin out from his small change.

She held it up. “Four of these make ten bob, and two of those make a pound. ‘Seasy once yer get the ‘ang of it!”

“Right,” he said, feeling slightly bemused. He was sure she was right – he was going to be stationed here in England for the next few months at least while Pike helped co-ordinate the allied forces, so he’d have plenty of time to get used to the currency.

Glancing around, there was no-where to sit, so he headed for the sign that told him there was further seating downstairs. Halfway down the narrow staircase, he stood to one side, holding his beer out of the way, to allow two giggling women in WRAF uniforms to squeeze past.

Once in the basement, he found it was less crowded, but a lack of ventilation, not helped by the low, beamed ceiling, meant a thick pall of smoke hung in the hot, humid air as everyone puffed on cigarettes. He paused to glance around, looking for somewhere to sit.

In a corner at an empty table sat a Vulcan in an American army uniform. For a moment he stared at the unusual sight – it wasn't so much that he'd never met an alien in real life, but more that one was apparently involving himself in their war that took him aback. 

Another puzzling fact was that all other tables were full and many more people were having to stand, so Jim couldn't figure out why no-one else was sitting there. He couldn’t imagine the Vulcan would have a problem with anyone joining him and decided that maybe others were a little intimidated by him. Not Jim Kirk.

“Anyone sitting here?” he asked, indicating the empty seats with a smile.

“Negative,” the Vulcan responded, only briefly glancing up from a book he was reading – or skimming judging by the rate he was turning the pages. Though he’d heard the aliens had incredible intelligence, so maybe he really could speed-read that fast.

Jim put his glass on the table and sliding a chair out, sat down. He took a sip of his drink and winced. Warm beer on a warm summer’s evening in a very warm pub, wasn’t what he’d call refreshing. The beer had an initial bitter flavor, but there was a pleasant backtaste of caramel that had him taking a second and third sip. Not bad.

He spent the next several minutes wondering how to open up a conversation with the intriguing alien who, by the looks of his rank insignia, was a Captain.

As if sensing his hesitation, the Vulcan looked up at him. The change in angle meant his face was caught in the light of a nearby wall-lamp and Jim sucked in his breath at the sight. The guy was gorgeous – pale and exotic, with deep brown eyes he could get lost in.

“You have a query?”

It took a moment for Jim to find his voice. “I thought your Prime Directive meant you guys couldn’t interfere in our wars.”

“That is correct.”

Jim waved a hand at him. “So…what’s with the uniform then?” It fit him snugly, and the green matched the delicate hue of his skin.

“I have dual citizenship and chose to exercise my right as an Earth citizen by enlisting.”

His voice, Jim noted, was cool and melodious, his accent not unlike those of the north-eastern states of New England.

“Swell. I’m Jim Kirk.” He knew enough not to put his hand out.

The Vulcan gazed at him for some time before nodding his head. “S'chn T'gai Spock,” he said eventually. “You may call me Spock.”

Jim grinned. “So what’s a nice Vulcan like you, doing in a place like this?”

“I work for an intelligence unit,” Spock said. That made sense – he wasn’t directly involved in any combat, then. He knew the cabinet war rooms were close by – though their exact location was a secret. Maybe Spock worked there.

“And you? You appear somewhat out of place.”

A landlocked sailor – too true. “Yeah a bit. Just back from France. My boss is an Admiral.”

“So you have seen some action,” Spock said. “I am given to understand the initial invasion of the allied forces across northern France was chaotic with many casualties the result of friendly fire.”

 _It was a bloodbath._ “Yeah, it looked pretty brutal,” Jim agreed, staring down at his beer. “I was commanding an amphibious landing craft, so I didn’t make it to land.” He tried not to think about all the soldiers he saw clambering off the hundreds of craft that had pulled up to the Normandy beaches, while navy guns bombarded the enemy defenses over the tops of their heads, backed up by a whole skyful of aircraft – more than he’d ever seen before. The assault forced the German army to pull back but not before snipers used machine guns to slay hundreds of the allied forces as they moved up the beaches, like shooting fish in a barrel. It was inevitable that so many got caught up in the cross-fire, including some of his own men – men he’d come to know and whose company he enjoyed.

“I grieve with thee,” Spock said quietly and Jim glanced up, startled. Vulcans were touch telepaths – it must have been the look on his face, the horror of the ferocious battle a few weeks earlier still fresh in his mind. He didn’t think he’d ever be able to forget it.

Spock didn’t return to his book, instead leaving it closed on the table as he took a sip of his drink. It looked like orange juice – Jim was willing to bet there was no alcohol in it. They lapsed into silence, Jim curious and wanting to know Spock better, but knowing enough of Vulcans not to pry. Delving into his pocket, he pulled a cigarette out of a crumpled packet and judging by the look on Spock’s face, offering him one would be a waste of time. Lighting it, he inhaled deeply, letting go the tension that had gathered during the conversation.

“What made you want to get involved in all this?” Jim asked, settling on a direct question.

“I could not countenance a regime that has as its core principles, the belief that certain groups of people are inferior. Vulcans believe that diversity is to be celebrated.”

Now that was a utopian thought. He couldn’t see that happening on Earth any time soon and they wouldn’t be able to look to the Vulcans for help. Once they arrived, they’d been willing to integrate to learn more about the many different Earth cultures, and they’d been allowed to do so once it was clear they weren’t here to conquer Humanity, but they consistently refused to get involved, sharing little of themselves and none of their clearly highly advanced technology.

Vulcans had pulled out completely from Germany and then Austria in the mid-30s and if that hadn’t been a clue to the American and British governments that something big was going down, he didn’t know what was, yet both continued to believe Hitler’s claims that he wasn’t interested in expansion. That lasted right up until he invaded Poland in ’39. Jim felt a little ashamed his government had still refused to get involved for further two years – not until the Japanese decided to hit Hawaii. He’d been at the end of his first year of his officer’s course at Annapolis when he got pulled out by Pike, selected to be his assistant.

“There are rumors the Nazis have camps where they’ve been shipping all the Jews. No-one’s certain what’s been happening to them once they get there.” He knew more than he was letting on – man’s inhumanity to man. No wonder the Vulcans didn’t want to get involved: they must think Humans a bunch of savages. “I don’t get what difference it makes if you worship in a church or a temple.” _If you cut me, do I not bleed?_ the Shakespeare quote sprung to Jim’s mind. Such discrimination was beyond his ability to comprehend.

“It would appear that it matters to the Nazis. Jews are not the only group persecuted. They have singled out other so-called ‘undesirables’, such as gypsies and homosexuals.”

Jim had been about to take the last drag of his cigarette, but paused for a moment, catching Spock’s eye and in that moment, he knew. He understood Spock’s motivation to stay behind when his people had left, wanting to try to help in the fight against a despotic madman and his small band of crazy followers. Sitting back in his seat, his gaze never leaving Spock’s face, he pulled in a lungful of smoke and letting it out slowly through his nose, stubbed out what was left of the cigarette in the ashtray.

Their eyes held each other’s as a silent communication passed between them and it seemed like it lasted forever, but Jim guessed was probably no more than a minute. It would be a moment in time Jim would look back on with fondness throughout the rest of his life.

He crossed his arms and leaned on the table. “So you’ve got personal reasons for getting involved,” he said quietly. Not quite a declaration, but close enough.

He watched Spock’s adam’s apple bob. “Perhaps.”

Things had relaxed for people of their kind – homosexuals – since the outbreak of war, but not that much. Caution was written into every potential encounter.

Jim leaned back and deciding to test the waters a little, shifted his feet under the table so that his calf pressed against Spock’s. The Vulcan didn’t shift and a smile grew on his face as he lifted his beer and drained the glass, watching Spock do the same.

“Want to get out of here?” he asked. “Go for a walk. You can’t be enjoying all this smoke.”

“That would be acceptable.”

And that’s how Jim found himself with a Vulcan retracing his steps through Admiralty Arch, a warm July breeze cooling his overheated skin. He hadn’t realized how hot it had been in the pub’s basement until he’d gotten outside. Next to him, Spock had shivered when they’d first stepped out. Guess he preferred the heat: _hot as Vulcan_ had become a popular saying.

The pick-up was fast, but as the proverb went: desperate times called for desperate measures. There was no point any more in pussy-footing around –only a week earlier, two and a half thousand people lost their lives in the new flying-bomb attacks on London. With that threat constantly hanging over their heads, and the knowledge that at any time, with no notice, military personnel could be called into combat, there wasn't time for the usual courting rituals. 

Spock, Jim noticed, was pretty much the same height as him and though he looked slightly more slender, he knew looks were deceiving with Vulcans rumored to have several times the strength of Humans. His gait was graceful and as they walked, Jim stole brief looks at the striking alien, his excitement mounting at what they were tacitly planning.

“I’m billeted some place down there,” he said when Spock caught him looking at him, vaguely pointing further down The Mall. “The place used to be some old boys club – very posh, you know, with the kind of carpets that you sink up to your knees in, and where valets serve you your drinks on silver trays.”

“Are the valets still present?” Spock asked.

Jim snorted. “I _am_ the valet, even though I’m a lieutenant-commander.” The rank still sounded strange to him, having only just been awarded it following his participation in the D-Day landings. He’d gotten three medals out of that campaign too. He’d wanted to feel proud of his achievements, but he couldn’t shake the memory of all the men who wouldn’t be coming back, even though his own actions, which had twice nearly cost him his own life, had saved the lives of many others.

Spock looked at his uniform and one of his elegantly pointed eyebrows rose, the question clear.

“I prefer to wear a non-comm uniform when I go out to socialize. I get fewer women hitting on me that way.”

“Indeed? And your commanding officer does not discipline you for breaking regulations?”

“I work for an Admiral as his assistant and pet protégé project.”

“Ah,” Spock said. “And because of this he is willing to allow you to—”

“—bend the rules a bit, yeah,” Jim grinned.

As if suddenly becoming aware of his surroundings Spock asked, “Where are we going?”

“St. James’s Park – it’s just down here on the left.”

The droning of aircraft high above them heading east made Jim look up, though he couldn’t really see anything – not even silhouettes – against the star-filled night sky. The engines were the deeper sound of bombers on a night sortie probably from Northolt, he decided – he’d memorized all the bases and airfields in south-east England. He didn’t want to think about the bombs they were carrying or who they’d be dropping them on: people just like him, caught up in a war that only a maniacal few really wanted.

Jim led Spock off the sidewalk and onto a path bordered with shrubs on one side and a lawn on the other. In the distance Big Ben tolled eleven – the lateness of the hour would explain why the area was completely deserted. They continued on the path until they reached a small lake. Jim had been for a walk earlier that day and knew at intervals around the edge of the water were benches, but in the almost pitch blackness it was hard to see them.

“How’s your night vision?” Jim asked. “See a bench anywhere?”

“There are a number to our right.” As he said it, under cover of darkness, Jim felt warm fingers curl around his own, gently tugging him off the path. Jim shifted his fingers until they were intertwined with Spock’s and he heard the Vulcan catch his breath.

Spock sat down, pulling Jim down to sit on his left. “It is fortuitous there is no moon tonight. Human eyesight is not equipped for vision below one lumen.”

“And Vulcans are?” Jim asked, very conscious of the hand that gently held his, the heat seeming to radiate through to his very bones.

“My people evolved on a planet with no moon and a sister planet that causes eclipses of our sun, Eridani, every three rotations for a period of seven point two Earth hours.”

“Huh. I guess it kinda makes sense, then.”

“Our hearing is also heightened compared to that of Humans.”

Jim grinned. “Now you’re just bragging.”

“No. I am telling you this, because I will hear or see anyone approach us long before they see or hear us.”

Jim smiled and looked down at his lap. “That’s…useful.”

“Indeed,” Spock said, and the depth and timbre of his voice made Jim shiver, even though the air was warm.

Jim looked up and turned to Spock, to see that he was the subject of a steady gaze. Simultaneously, they leaned in towards one another. The first brush of Spock’s mouth on his was electric, his body lighting up. It had been too long since he’d felt the intimate touch of another. Jim’s free hand came up and slid around Spock’s neck to pull him in again. He tilted his head and the second kiss was more sure. Jim’s eyes fluttered closed as he opened his mouth to a hot, wet tongue that slipped passed his lips to slide against his own.

The kiss was thrilling, causing his heart to kick into a higher gear. The fact that Spock was an alien added an extra frisson that seemed to ignite his body, his cock rock hard in moments.

He could taste the orange juice in Spock’s mouth, together with something else, spicy and exotic. As their tongues twirled and danced, Jim felt Spock lift his hand to cup his jaw, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. Jim twisted further and deepened the kiss, trying his best to ignore his hard-on. No matter how much he desired it, he was resigned to the fact he wouldn’t be able to do anything about it until he reached the privacy of his bedroom.

Eventually, they pulled back, gasping for air and Jim focused on nuzzling the soft skin of Spock’s neck between his jaw and shoulder, careful not to do anything that would leave a mark.

“Jim, while we are in a public area, it would not be safe to do more than kiss,” Spock said and he was sure he could hear a note of regret in his voice. He’d been thinking the same thing.

“Are you reading my mind?” he wondered aloud with a smile, then trailed his tongue up Spock’s neck to his earlobe, which he gently took between his teeth and nibbled.

Spock hissed. “No,” he said, his voice sounding less controlled than it had been. “I can read emotions only and I sense a conflict between your lust and your need to be cautious.”

Jim smiled ruefully, pulling away. “Yeah, that about sums it up! The part me of me driven by hormones wants to rip your clothes off explore your gorgeous body, and the part of me that’s spent my whole adult life hiding this is kinda nervous as hell.”

“You speak of hormones. You are familiar with the Human endocrine system?” Spock asked.

Jim knew from Bones that endocrinology was fairly cutting-edge science. “A bit – my best friend at Annapolis was a doctor. We used to help each other revise for exams. I got to learn medicine and he got to learn battlefield tactics and strategy.”

“An equitable trade,” Spock said, and Jim swore his lips quirked upward, briefly.

“So how do you know about it?” Jim asked, hoping he wasn’t pushing too much, but he had an insatiable curiosity, wanting to know more about this enigmatic Vulcan.

“I was trained in sciences.”

Jim looked up at the clear sky, the lack of moon and ambient lighting allowing the Milky Way to sparkle like diamond dust on black velvet. “Which one’s your home?” he asked.

Spock pointed to the south, to just above the horizon. “40 Eridani lies sixteen point five three lightyears in that direction. The star is a trinary and not visible to the naked eye.”

Sixteen and a half light years. Such colossal distances were meaningless to a mind unable to comprehend the true vastness of space beyond an academic appreciation. “Does the sky look very different to you, here on Earth?”

“Not entirely – we share the same group of local stars, but your constellations do not appear to us as they do here as we view them from a different angle. On my planet, our orange sun is not alone in the sky. It has two stellar companions, a white and a red dwarf, that shine in Vulcan's sky as silver white and blood red points.”

Living in rural Iowa, Jim was familiar with the main stars of the night sky, but for the first time, he felt a hunger to be amongst them, to find out what’s out there beyond Vulcan, envying Spock’s people their space-faring capability.

Spock’s hand came up to his face again, grounding him. “You are a most attractive man, Jim.”

Jim swallowed, his gaze pulled back to Spock. “I could say the same about you.” It was as though an electro-magnet had switched on, drawing them inexorably together as they leaned in and began to kiss enthusiastically. Jim loved kissing and Spock really knew how.

They had been at it for several minutes, Jim reveling in every second of it, when Spock suddenly pulled away. “Someone approaches,” he whispered in Jim’s ear. They sat up, moving further apart as Jim straightened out his jacket where Spock had been fisting it.

It was another half a minute before Jim could hear the footfall and wondered just how acute Vulcan hearing was. It was further twenty seconds before he could make out the outline of a policeman, his distinctive helmet a giveaway.

“Evening,” the policeman said, eyeing the two of them.

What would two men be doing on a park bench in the dark at near midnight? It must have been obvious what they were up to.

“Hi,” Jim said at the same time Spock intoned a more formal ‘Good Evening, constable’ in response.

“Americans?” the policeman asked. “Oh, you’re the Vulcan,” he added.

 _The_ Vulcan, Jim thought. Then realized if Spock had been working in this area for a while, he’d likely be known since virtually – if not all – the rest of his people had left Earth.

“…the one working for Mr. Churchill,” he added.

Jim glanced sharply at Spock then turned with a frown to the policeman. “Loose lips might sink ships,” he reminded him, wondering what on earth Spock was doing working for the Prime Minister.

“You’re on our side, aren’t you? You’re a Yank,” the policeman said.

“Yeah, I am. But still…”

“Indeed, Mr. Kirk is correct,” Spock added, his tone harsher than Jim had heard it. “One should not assume from dress nor accent that a person is friendly.”

“Yeah, well, no 'arm done, eh? Right, I've got me beat to patrol, so I’ll be on my way. Night.”

Jim was really curious, but knew better than to ask: obviously whatever Spock was working on was going to be top secret. “Do you think we looked suspicious,” he asked with a smile. “Two guys on a park bench at this time of night?”

“Somewhat. However, I think the constable was more concerned I would report him for his revelation than with what you and I were doing here.”

Jim didn’t want the night to end, but he knew he’d be in big trouble if he got back after midnight. Leaning in, he pressed his lips to Spock’s. “I have to go. Pubs shut at eleven, so my boss’ll start wondering where I am.”

Spock kissed him fervently and when they pulled away, they were panting. “Will I see you again?” Spock asked. “I find myself most reluctant to leave your company.”

Jim felt a thrill wash through him at Spock’s admittance – he was feeling the same way. “I could meet you in the pub tomorrow night. If anything comes up and I can’t make it, do you have a way of getting in contact with Admiral Pike?”

“Admiral Pike? I am familiar with the name. I believe so.”

They stood up together and then fell into each other’s arms. In this position, Jim could feel Spock’s arousal, as the Vulcan could probably feel his pressing against his hip. The kiss had a note of desperation to it. It wasn’t specific to what they were sharing, although it was an important part – it was also because nothing was certain any more.

“Jim,” Spock whispered against his neck, his hot breath gusting across his skin, making it tingle.

“Spock.”

The two of them finally, reluctantly parted and walked back to the main path where Jim turned left and Spock turned right to skirt around the lake, heading south.

+

Epilogue

It was a bright sunny day, unusual for February Jim had learned, since he’d discovered English weather tended to be dull and overcast through most of winter, though far milder than he was used to back home in Iowa. He strode across the grass towards the lake, each exhalation condensing in the cold air. As he approached ‘their’ bench, his face broke out into a smile. Spock was already there.

He plunked himself down in the place he always took to Spock’s left. “Happy Valentine’s,” he said, producing a bar of chocolate from his pocket, hoping it hadn’t melted. Spock’s eyes lit up at the sight, more Jim thought ruefully, than he had at seeing him approach. He grinned at Spock’s obvious delight.

“Evidently, as always, our minds think alike,” Spock said and opened his hand to reveal four packs of Wrigley’s Juicy Fruit gum. “Spock! Jeez, where did you get these?” he laughed, his hand snaking out to snag the proffered gift. Juicy Fruit was his favorite but it was practically impossible to get a hold of in England.

Jim looked down at the gum and then up at Spock, relishing his Valentine’s gift. Against all odds, they’d managed to stay together for the last seven months since they’d met the previous summer. The war in Europe was over bar the shouting, with the Battle of the Bulge a recent victory only three weeks earlier, the German army was now rapidly retreating back to its own borders.

Since the aftermath of D-Day, Admirals Pike, Barnett and Archer had stayed in London to oversee the tactical deployment of the US Navy, and where Pike was, so was Jim, and he couldn't have been more thankful.

Since he and Spock had first met, they stole every moment they could to be together. They'd been extremely discreet, and if anyone had guessed what was going on between them, no-one said anything. A sign of the times – with life expectancy so short, everyone had taken on a laissez-faire attitude. Live and let live.

Jim held Spock’s gaze and without conscious volition, they began to lean in towards one another until they simultaneously realized and pulled back, Jim with a sheepish smile and Spock, with a small quirk of his lips. Not in public – never in public: they both had too much to lose. 

“I find you irresistible, Ashayam,” Spock confessed ruefully.

Jim grinned. “The feeling’s mutual.” He knew it was more than that – knew he was in love, and though they'd never said the words, it was there between them.

They managed private time at least once a week and he was okay with that. Better than…he’d truly never expected to have this time with Spock. The first time they'd had sex together in the nearby room Spock was renting in a rather grand town-house owned by some member of the English aristocracy, it had been mind-blowing. But it was some time before their encounters lost an almost frantic quality to them, gradually evolving into something loving and tender, moments to be cherished.

He'd gotten to learn a lot about Spock - like he was only half-Vulcan, that his dad had headed the First Contact team and as a kid, he'd owned a pet with six inch fangs. He knew every inch of Spock's body intimately, knew all the things that would elicit a delicious moan from that gorgeous mouth, and on a few precious occasions, they'd even shared minds, but for all that, he still had no idea what Spock did any more than he knew what Jim did. It was the one area of their lives where the doors remained completely closed.

Once the war was over -- which Pike believed would be later that year if the Pacific offensive continued to be successful – they intended to buy a place together, and had decided on living in San Francisco. Maybe, one day he’d get to see Vulcan. Few Humans had, but with Spock’s mother being one of them, anything was possible.

Standing up, they headed towards Spock's residence, anticipation of what was to come crackling in the air between them. Jim opened up one of the packets of gum and popped a piece in his mouth, feeling the fruity flavor burst across his tongue – if he was going to have to wait a little while longer to kiss Spock, he needed to keep his mouth otherwise occupied.

“Happy Valentine’s Jim,” Spock said, breaking off a piece of his Hershey’s bar, clearly in need of the same distraction.

Jim blew a bubble at his lover and grinned happily. All was well with their world.

[finis]


End file.
